Kusanagi (4 page)

Brandon put the beer bottles down with a clunk. The boys were looking at him questioningly. They would have seemed huge around any bar table but in a cramped Japanese watering-hole, they were outlandish. He was smiling. He had kept the lid on his discovery against all his impulses to come right out with it.

The team were holding their beers and waiting, twitching with anticipation. Why was Brandon acting up? Why was the meet off base? What had got into him?

Brandon put his hand into his shirt pocket, like he was reaching for a pack of smokes. ‘Well, guys, I want to show you something.' He put a coin in front of each of his comrades and two in front of himself. ‘These are for you.'

‘What's this?' Casey picked up the shiny oval.

‘Gold coins,' said Brandon, watching their faces as they studied his gifts.

‘You found these today?' said Reece.

‘When we were coming onshore,' said Brandon.

‘Don't bite that,' said Reece, as Danny was about to put his coin between his teeth. ‘It's gold all right. You can tell by the weight. You don't want to spoil the piece or, for that matter, your teeth.'

‘There's a whole hill of these down there,' said Brandon. ‘Hundreds, maybe even thousands of them.'

‘I saw you,' said Casey. ‘Saw you come back up.'

‘You're too sharp for me,' said Brandon, acknowledging him. ‘We've got to go back – we could clean up.'

Reece was holding his to the light. ‘Brandon, I want you to think for a minute, then tell me how many you saw.'

‘Buddy, they were all over the bottom – so many I could see them from forty feet up.'

‘And for every one you can see, there might be ten more buried,' added Casey.

They looked at each other.

Brandon was sucking at his beer as he watched Danny compare his coin with the others.

‘We're going to need a boat and we are going to need to sync up our furlough. I got plenty,' Reece went on.

‘Me too,' said Brandon.

‘Copy,' said Casey.

‘In two weeks I get mine,' said Danny.

‘Two weeks!' sighed Brandon.

‘Don't sweat it,' said Reece. ‘It'll take a bit of arranging to get us a boat we can crew ourselves and it'll cost plenty.'

‘How much?' asked Danny.

‘Fifteen to twenty thousand for a week. That's five thousand each,' said Reece.

‘I'm in,' said Brandon.

‘Jesus,' said Danny, ‘my fucking Visa's already maxed.'

‘Who cares? I'm in,' said Casey.

‘Of course I'm in too,' added Danny. ‘Jesus!' he exclaimed. ‘I'm fucked.' He laughed into the neck of his beer bottle.

‘Brandon,' said Reece, ‘I'll go to Tokyo this weekend and see if I can pawn the coins. Get an idea what they're worth. No good finding out they'll only fetch a hundred yen.'

‘Do you think that's likely?' Casey enquired.

‘No,' said Reece, ‘but let's do this properly.'

‘Yes, sir.' Casey clinked his bottle with Reece's.

Reece collected all the coins. He looked suddenly very serious, and his cheek muscles flared. ‘Now, guys, there's to be no mention of this. One leak and I'll turn it in to the CO and let it go through the channels. If it gets out we're up to party games, they'll drum us out.' His colleagues knew he was right – and their faces reflected their horror at the idea. Then they relaxed: a grin had crept up the right side of Reece's face.

Reece's Japanese was pretty much non-existent, and travelling through Tokyo taxed him more than any day of physical effort. He had spent the previous night researching the best place to take the coins for valuation and what they might be worth. The coins, if they were coins, seemed like Tokugawa currency, the first Japanese system to replace the Chinese coins that until the 1600s had been used in that part of Asia. However, he could find nothing like them on the Internet.

There was a store near the Tokyo Tower that seemed like a good place to start. He told the middle-aged taxi driver where to go: ‘Tokyo Tower,
kudasi.
' He suspected it meant ‘Give me the Tokyo Tower.' It seemed to do the trick because about twenty-five minutes later he could see the massive orange and white structure in the distance.

Reece squinted up at the Japanese equivalent of France's Eiffel Tower and chuckled to himself. The tower was typical Japanese thinking. Copy a great European idea but make it with superior technology and expertise, in this case steel rather than iron. Then show the Frenchies how to make a tower that weighs only 25 per cent of their cast-iron monster but is thirty feet higher.

He marched up the hill, then down an anonymous main road filled with modern offices, and stopped in his tracks: between two looming grey office blocks there were three low wooden buildings, grimy and worn. The middle structure was spotlessly clean, but to his eyes broken and old, like a shack in the country that needed tearing down for something, new and painted, to be put in its place.

He checked his Google printout. It was the same door. There was a warm light coming from inside and it looked open. There were two plates on the stoop, loaded with salt. Apparently that was for good luck. Reece kind of understood that salt was pure and that pure was good, but it still struck him as odd to keep plates of salt on your front doorstep.

He went in, and found himself surrounded by cabinets of swords and armour. Towards the back of the shop he saw an old man and approached him – the proprietor, he thought. The old man's desk had a case on it, filled with little white and brown carvings. Reece walked up to him and smiled. The old man smiled back.

Reece bowed a little and moved towards a chair in front of the desk. The old guy held out his hand, inviting him to sit.

Reece sat down, and immediately noticed that someone was moving behind a beaded screen. She popped her head out – a little old lady dressed in classic Japanese style. The proprietor's wife, he thought. He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and took out a coin, stuck between two five thousand yen bills. ‘I want to sell this,' he said slowly. He put it on the velvet cloth that lay in front of the old man.

The old man looked at him gravely, then picked up the coin. He cocked his head from side to side and sucked his front teeth. A moment later, he pursed his lips, produced a jeweller's loupe and began to scrutinise it. He put the loupe down, pulled out a large magnifying glass from beneath the desk and moved the coin backwards and forwards under the lens, flipping it over from one side to the other.

He sighed and laid the coin on the cloth. ‘Sell?'

‘Yes,' said Reece.

The old man pulled out a pad and a long thin gold pen.‘3,000,000 Y', he wrote.

Reece looked at the old man. Thirty thousand dollars? The Japanese didn't rip people off, or so they said – and so he had experienced. They also didn't negotiate, haggle or expect tips. ‘Yes,' he said. He bowed again. ‘OK.'

The old man got up and went through the bead curtain.

While he was gone, Reece turned to inspect the room. It was full of ancient stuff and it struck him that he must be sitting in the middle of a fortune. He had another four gold coins in his pocket, and forced away the thought of what they were worth. It didn't seem sensible to push his luck here. He'd try another store.

The old man came back and laid three bundles of cash on the velvet. Reece didn't count it: he knew he didn't need to. He stood up, pushing the money deep into his inside jacket pocket.

The old man was bowing.

‘Domo
,' said Reece.

Reece walked across the bar towards his unit, his face deadpan. Danny got up and headed to the bar to get them all another round. Reece took Danny's place against the wall, sliding his briefcase behind his knees.

‘How did it go?' asked Brandon.

‘Let's wait till Danny gets back.'

‘We weren't expecting you till tomorrow. Didn't go good, then?' fished Casey.

Reece turned to see what progress Danny was making – he was on his way back, bringing the beers. For a Saturday night the place was dead but, even when they were busy, Japanese bar staff did not fuck around. You needed a drink, you got one quick time.

Reece took his bottle from his colleague and had a long draught.

‘Well?' said Brandon.

‘I only got to sell two coins.'

‘Oh, shit,' said Danny. ‘That's why you came back early.'

‘What did you get for them?' asked Casey. ‘I mean, if there are thousands of them it might still be worth it.'

‘Well,' said Reece, ‘I got thirty thousand for one and twenty-five thousand for the other.'

‘Thirty thousand yen's pretty cool,' said Casey.

‘Dollars.'

Casey, Brandon and Danny froze. There were no whoops of joy. Reece grinned up the right side of his face. ‘Gentlemen, that's the correct response.'

‘Jesus,' said Danny, ‘we're going to get busted.'

‘Not necessarily,' said Reece.

Brandon was chuckling to himself; he nudged Casey, whose bottle holding hand was covering his mouth. Casey threw him a look that seemed to say, ‘At some point this is all going to be your fault.'

‘So what are we going to do?' said Danny.

‘Well, it can't do any harm to go back to that reef and take a look, can it?' Reece gazed around the table, allowing himself a smirk.

‘We can't get busted for a bit of sports diving,' said Casey.

‘Let's see what we find,' said Reece, ‘then work out what to do. So far we've done nothing we can't explain away.'

Danny's eyes twinkled in the subdued light of the bar. He raised his bottle. ‘Here's to sports diving.'

Jim sat forlornly at the end of the examination couch. The doctor had been gone for thirty minutes and he had put his shirt back on. What the hell was keeping him? He was pretty surprised that, considering the stupendous amounts of money the clinic charged, he could be left alone for so long, semi-naked.

Being rich and seeing doctors seemed to go hand in hand. Before he had made any money his life had been a bit of squalor and a lot of health. When wealth had entered his life through the front door, mayhem and destruction had come in at the back, he reflected. He got off the couch and put his shoes on, then sat on a high leather armchair by the doctor's desk.

At last the door opened and the old doctor walked in. He didn't look very happy. He sat down by his desk, a folder in his hand, and seemed to avoid Jim's eyes. ‘I'm really sorry, but I can't help you.'

The colour drained from Jim's face. ‘What is it?'

The doctor looked very unhappy indeed. He opened the folder and took out a sheet of paper. ‘This is not something I can deal with.' He pointed at an image it showed.

‘Is that me?' said Jim, looking at the ribcage with what seemed to be a large battery pack embedded into it.

‘Yes.'

‘What is it?' he asked.

‘Well, Mr Evans, you tell me.'

‘I don't know,' he said, rubbing his face with both hands.

‘Whatever it is, I'm not qualified to deal with it, and whoever put it there clearly has a mandate.'

‘A mandate?' said Jim.

The doctor didn't reply.

‘Why can't you take it out?'

‘It would mean replacing a large part of your ribcage,' said the doctor. ‘Moreover, whatever it is, it probably does a better job than anything I could replace it with.'

Jim touched the spot on his ribs where he felt a periodic twinge and the scan showed a plate across three ribs. His fingertips couldn't detect it.

‘I'm sorry I can't help you,' said the doctor, standing up. ‘I won't charge you for this consultation.'

‘Why?' said Jim, also getting to his feet.

The doctor seemed suddenly fearful. ‘I'd prefer it if you didn't mention you'd seen me,' he said. He was pleading.

‘You don't need to worry,' said Jim, as the penny dropped. ‘My friends did this to me.'

‘Really?' said the doctor.

‘Not the grenade injuries, the other thing.' He shrugged apologetically.

‘Just don't tell me any more.' The doctor hurried to open the door.

The Thames was rushing by Jim's windows as the spring tide raced up at full bore. The water was grey, like the heavy rainclouds above. All manner of flotsam rode the tide downstream to the sea, mysterious drowned shapes riding the surging currents. The innocent and the obscene churned together in the cold, turbulent waters. He was staring at his phone. He wanted to call Jane and shout, ‘What did you put in me?' But one of the nagging questions at the back of his mind had been answered. How had they found him so quickly in the Congo? Well, now he had seen the picture it was obvious: they had chipped him like a pedigree puppy.

If it wasn't for the fact that smashing his phone against the wall would create days of inconvenience, he would have lobbed it across the room – or, better still, opened the window and consigned it to the bottom of the river.

Stafford came in with a tray. ‘Tea and crumpets, sir?'

Jim couldn't help but laugh. The fucking Americans had stuck a transponder in his ribcage, and the British had sent an agent disguised as a butler to spy on him – and all because he could read the future of foreign exchange and stock charts like others read words on a page. Predicting the future performance of financial instruments seemed to many like something they could learn, a puzzle to crack and get good at, like a crossword. Predicting the market from charts was just another great way of making money, if you could master it. In reality, it was impossible – just as you couldn't know for certain the winner of tomorrow's three thirty at Doncaster until horse and jockey passed the post.

While hundreds of books every year professed to teach you how to predict the future of markets, the reality was that, if you could, you'd be able to suck the financial world dry. A savant who could predict the movement of markets from charts could grow their wealth exponentially, for ever increasing the size of their bets. Pretty soon no one would be prepared to play against him and the market would die. It would be a skill as powerful and as dangerous as a time machine. The ability to see even seconds into the future of the dollar would ensure that the viewer made fortunes beyond even the avarice of billionaires. So, it was fortunate that these books did not unlock the secrets of trading the market, and that it was impossible to stare at the chart of Microsoft and see how it was going to trade. The consequences of being able to do so would be disastrous.

Until one day, in a bank in London's Docklands, a trainee who brought the coffee and fruit to the noisy traders had pointed out that the German Bund was about to go up. It had done so. His name was Jim Evans. For Jim, it had been the start of a crazy ride that, as he sat now, watching the tide roll up the Thames, seemed never-ending.

‘Professor Nakabashi, I'm honoured you could see me so quickly.'

Akira smiled. ‘Sit down, old friend, and show me what you have found. I am most excited.'

Shinjitai-san sat down slowly. While some men in their eighties seemed agile and untroubled by age, his advanced years had taken their toll. ‘I can hardly believe it myself,' he said, pulling a handkerchief from the top pocket of his suit jacket. ‘But here it is.' He unfolded the woollen cloth, a subtle tartan pattern made of finest thread.

A gold lozenge twinkled.

‘Oooh,' groaned Akira. He picked it up. ‘It is a treasure,' he said, placing it under a lens, a cross between a magnifying glass and a microscope. The coin grew to the size of a chicken's egg. ‘This is unrecorded. It is from the fourteenth century, an almost unprecedented find. It is pristine.' He looked at Shinjitai-san. ‘How much did you pay for it?'

‘Sensei, I paid only three hundred
mahn
for it, but it was from an American and I could hardly believe that it was genuine. Three million yen was all I had to hand and I feared it was not genuine and that I would lose the money.'

Akira nodded. ‘I understand. What would you have me pay for it?'

Shinjitai-san bowed his head. ‘Ten million yen.'

‘That is not enough, but I will accept your offer.'

‘Thank you, Sensei. I am grateful that you will accept it into the Imperial Collection.'

‘See here,' said Akira, opening a drawer. He put down a small velvet tray in front of Shinjitai-san.

The old man gasped: it was another exquisite rarity. He looked at Akira. ‘Can it be?'

Akira flexed the fingers on his short hand. ‘Of course not, Shinjitai-san, but it is delightful to imagine.'

‘Surely?'

‘We should not torture ourselves, my friend.'